


What Could Go Wrong?

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Depressed John, Horny Sherlock, M/M, Prostitute!Sherlock, Sherlock pretending to be a prostitute, Suicidal Ideation, john!John, what could go wrong?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8119861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: John is going to kill himself. He's had enough of this world, and has decided to go out with a bang, before going out with a bang. He finds himself in the bad part of town cruising for a prostitute to share his last hours with.Sherlock is talking to one of his homeless network about a case, and checking up on the prostitutes he's taken under his wing, when the cab pulls up. A doctor, and an attractive one. He decides to scare the man off.His plan goes to hell once he's in the cab and silently deducing the man. And...well, he finds himself in the man's flat and wanting more than a piece of him. And he might as well, right?What could go wrong?





	1. You're Very Good At This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [1butterfly_grl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1butterfly_grl1/gifts), [DaringD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringD/gifts), [Tardisqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tardisqueen/gifts), [Batik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/gifts), [MyriadProBold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyriadProBold/gifts), [JunkenMetel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunkenMetel/gifts), [vixis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vixis/gifts), [Darth_Nonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darth_Nonie/gifts), [Itsallgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsallgood/gifts), [PenelopeWaits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeWaits/gifts), [Fandoms_Unite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Unite/gifts), [Le_Tabby_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Tabby_Cat/gifts), [Megabat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megabat/gifts), [kitmerlot1213](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitmerlot1213/gifts), [Oleta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oleta/gifts), [Choice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choice/gifts), [Jberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jberry/gifts), [EllieSaxon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieSaxon/gifts), [mafm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mafm/gifts), [cheekycheekbones (Cheeycheekbones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheeycheekbones/gifts), [JuJuBee (Marcy09)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marcy09/gifts), [kree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kree/gifts), [Doctor_Tinycat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Tinycat/gifts), [wintersnest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnest/gifts), [YoYoMo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoYoMo/gifts), [MrsMusicAddict](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMusicAddict/gifts).



> Holy crap I don't know where this came from. 
> 
> To the new people on my list: I see you. I don't always reply to comments, but I see you and you make me so happy.
> 
> To the regulars on my list: yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The man was conflicted, shifting in his seat and trying to appear as if he wasn't looking out the window. Sherlock had seen this before, of course, but this time there was something different. He told Tommy he would speak with him about the case the next day and pushed his way to the front of the queue. There were a few disgruntled noises, but once they saw who was doing the pushing that all dropped away.

Sherlock had their trust. He'd been working towards that point for two years, being the catalyst for change that the group sorely needed. He made sure they were seen to at local clinics and took care of the abusive johns. Their guardian angel, someone had said, though he didn't see it that way. Doing what was right was hardly angelic, it was just right.

Sherlock slipped out of his jacket, coat left at home on such an unreasonably warm evening, and unbuttoned his shirt, letting the top two inches of skin breathe as he stepped out in front of the cab. It came to a stop easily, having barely been moving at all, and Sherlock went to lean against the side of it, peering in as the window was rolled down a bit.

"Lonely tonight, doctor?" Sherlock purred, fingers curling around the lip of the window.

The man looked close to passing out, eyes flicking this way and that and a sheen of sweat on his brow noting more than the weather. "Do-do I know you?" he sputtered.

"Would you like to?" Sherlock asked, more than willing to get the man off the streets and back into what he was sure was a small house in the suburbs with a perfectly manicured front garden.

The man licked his lips and Sherlock took that as a yes, hopping into the back seat with ease and pushing the man over with one bony hip. Sherlock nodded at the driver, Eric, or Aaron, or something, and the man pulled away from the kerb. The doctor swallowed hard and stuck his hand out. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and the man spoke.

"I'm John."

"How fitting," Sherlock said, smile stealing across his lips as he took John's sweaty hand in his and drew his conclusions.

"How much would it be for-" John said, wincing and wiping his hand on his denims.

"You can afford me," Sherlock interrupted, sitting back and letting his legs fall open on pretense, "just barely." And he could see that it was true now that he was in the cab. There would be no pretty house at the end of this ride, no garden. Pity.

John snorted and looked to his feet. "Well, alright then."

They finally made it to John's building, a dilapidated three storey with a gaping maw of a front entrance. John pushed more than enough cash into the hand of the cabbie and crawled out of the back seat. It was the first time Sherlock saw the cane, and the first time he saw John's reaction to it. He followed John up to the door of the drab bedsit and joined him inside, pushing the door closed with his shoulder.

They were at an impasse: John had no idea what to do next and Sherlock hadn't thought it would go this far. 

Sherlock had told himself he'd get the cab just far enough away and tell the man exactly where he should stick his lonely cock. Told himself to scare the man away from making this kind of bad decision again. It was obviously his first time and it was a habit he needed to avoid. A doctor, and a soldier, and a man so gripped by depression that he'd given up his morals for one night of feeling alive. Sherlock didn't look down on prostitutes, but he knew exactly the kind of trouble that frequenting them could get you into.

Sherlock sighed and crossed his arms. "You really think it's a good idea to be picking someone off the street for sex? You know you could pull at any local pub, don't you, doctor?"

"How did you know that?" John asked, shifting uncomfortably on his toes and gripping the cane with bruising force.

"The same way I know about the army and the injury you sustained that brought you home," Sherlock replied smoothly. And then, in that next second, he saw why John hadn't gone to a pub. "Ah, the injury. You're looking for someone who won't pass judgement. You thought a prostitute would be less likely to mention-"

"Yes, well," John said, jaw tightening and head tipping to the side in agitation as he tapped his cane on the floor loudly, "I was wrong on that account. Perhaps both accounts. I think it would be best if you just-"

He tried to open the door by reaching around Sherlock's side but Sherlock backed against it. And, Christ, now Sherlock was intrigued. Intrigued and close enough to smell the doctor's skin and feeling rather drunk on it. Which was...uncommon.

"Look, I think this has all been one big-" 

Before John could say mistake Sherlock found his lips and was somehow pressing his tongue between them. Sherlock's hand shifted into short hair and scratched against his scalp and John was moving against his mouth and breathing roughly through his nose and it felt overwhelming in a way Sherlock rarely allowed himself outside of chemical means.

There was the thump of the cane hitting the floor and a deep chuckle from John as he pulled away to look at it. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as best he could and tried to hide how incredibly turned on he was.

"Are you all so...pushy?" John asked, exasperation mingling with fondness.

"Only the good ones," Sherlock said, hands going to John's collar and fumbling the buttons open.

Sex. He hadn't thought of sex in so long that even the word felt strange on his mind's tongue. This wasn't so different from the last time, though, meeting someone on the street and following them home. Anonymity was best, and he knew he could find something to do with the cash at the end of the night. It wasn't completely like actually being a prostitute.

He had John's shirt and jacket pushed down his shoulders and had managed to walk him back to the bed, shoving him until he gave up and sat on the edge, and then he could see the scar. It took up nearly half his chest and was still rather fresh, the edges only just going ghostly white, silvery. Sherlock couldn't help himself, he had to lick it.

John might have been uncomfortable while talking about it, but with lips and a tongue pressing into it while a skilled hand gripped his cock through his denims, the discomfort turned something else. Jesus, the things this man was doing to him.

"You're very," John panted, hands going up to run through Sherlock's hair, "very good at this."

Sherlock moaned where his lips touched skin and started to unzip John's flies and pull at his trousers. John lifted his bum and let the man wrench them and his pants down his legs, toes going to clumsily push off his shoes and socks so his legs would come untangled from the mess of material. He slumped back on the bed and tossed his shirt and jacket aside and watched as Sherlock drew back and started to strip.

It wasn't what he'd been expecting, not practiced and meant to entice. There was no drawn out dance of hips, no finger teasing the band of the pants. The man shucked his clothing and stood there looking about the room before he went to rummage through the desk drawer. John would have been embarrassed by such a sudden revelation of his stash of condoms and lube if not for the wicked smile the man gave at it.

"We haven't discussed how this should-" John stuttered, once again cut off by the gorgeous man.

"I want you inside me," Sherlock said, and it was such a delightful idea that John didn't question the fact that they were apparently doing what the prostitute wanted, and that wasn't usually the way things went.

Sherlock tossed a condom at John and opened the tube of slick, walking with purpose and straddling John's lap the second the condom was on.

"Hold my hips," he demanded, pouring enough slick into his hand to make John worry about the cleanup.

John's hands rested on his hips, thumbs rubbing circles as Sherlock's head fell back at the first finger pushed in and his cock bobbed obscenely between them, wet at the tip.

"Harder," Sherlock ground out, hips twitching as he quickly prepared himself.

"Christ, okay, yeah," John said, holding tighter to those slim hips and leaning forward to lick across one peaked nipple.

The moan it drew out of Sherlock had John wondering if anyone had seen them arrive. Him and a prostitute. The women down the hall would be all over the building management about it when-

God. God, the heat. Sherlock's body gripping him as tight as an angry fist and sliding down with fevered urgency. His fingers were really digging into those hips now as Sherlock settled in his lap and breathed a heaving sigh against his neck. He couldn't think, let alone move, as the slow rolling began.

Sherlock shifted those hips; shift, slump, sigh, shift; and John was being pulled beneath the waves. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and the waves came faster.

This wasn't...this wasn't how he'd expected it to be. Somewhere in his mind he was completely unattached to his body and was marveling at how different it was all going than he'd expected. He'd thought the evening would involve him slumped over an uninterested party, fucking into him until he came and disappointed them both. This was the last hurrah, after all. This was the night he was going to finally suck-start his sig. Nothing in this night was meant to feel this good.

He was brought back to his body by a rough hand in his hair and seeking lips. Sherlock was moaning and biting at him and fucking himself on his cock with guttural grunts and John's hands shifted to his arse, pulling and squeezing and thrusting up now with bit off moans of his own.

"John," Sherlock exclaimed, eyes wide and wild and surprised, and John had never heard his name like that before.

"Oh, fuck," he cursed, grinding his teeth and licking sloppily into Sherlock's mouth, sucking on his tongue, biting it.

Sherlock leaned in and let his chin rest on John's shoulder as they fell into grunts and sighs and rutted like animals, Sherlock's cock rubbing slickly between their bodies with every thrust. He was the first to go, twitching and releasing and clamping down on John's prick until he'd wrung the man dry; a slobbering dripping mess and so very bloody thankful for it.

John let his hands move to wrap around Sherlock's waist and closed his eyes as his hips continued to circle, slower now. It seemed foolish to do anything else, foolish to even pull away.

He expected that soon that choice would be taken from him, that Sherlock would grumble and stand, clean himself up and ask for the money and leave. What he didn't expect was for Sherlock to pull him into the stupidly small loo and under the weak spray of the shower with him. He wasn't sure he had enough to pay for the gentle way the condom was pulled from his softening cock and tied off, the way the man let him massage his cheap shampoo into those mad curls. 

More than that, he was sure he didn't have enough to pay for the bit where Sherlock crawled beneath the covers and motioned for him to join. But hell, he was going die soon, and there was no debtor's prison in the ground, as far as he knew. 

If the sex had only been half as good he would have managed to stay awake a bit to regret things, but instead he was fast asleep within minutes, snoring softly into the curve of Sherlock's neck, and not dreaming of a damn thing.


	2. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Sherlock woke first, slipping into his pants and taking a few minutes to sneak around the room and look in all the drawers and cabinets. When he finally got back to the desk he sat at it and opened John's laptop. There was a blog open, his apparently, with one post staring back at Sherlock.

'Nothing happens to me.'

Sherlock tried to ignore how the post affected him and closed the laptop again. He'd seen something in John the night before. Somehow his eyes looked hollow. He was depressed, that was obvious, but Sherlock had a deep dread that it was worse than that. What he found in the left drawer of the desk cemented that feeling. 

A gun stared up at him, loaded and cleaned recently. The only reason for a civilian to have a gun, and a civilian that was quick to say that nothing ever happened to them, was to use it on intruders or themselves. From the state of the flat Sherlock could tell that John had nothing worth fighting over, (The laptop was out of date, and the only bit of electronics John seemed to own besides his mobile.) and John wasn't the type of man to make enemies. He was a soldier, yes, but more importantly, to him, he was a doctor. He healed, and healers didn't make many enemies. That left the second option.

John shifted onto his side and cleared his throat, stretching a bit and wincing as he started to wake. Sherlock closed the drawer silently and went to rummage through the cabinets in the kitchenette. He saw John sit up out of the corner of his eye and turned to him.

"Where do you keep the tea?" he asked filling the electric kettle and setting it to boil.

"Uh, right cabinet over the sink," John said, scratching a hand across the back of his neck and peering, confused, at the man.

"There's nothing to eat in the fridge," Sherlock said as he brought down the tea and found two mugs. "I was thinking we should go out for breakfast."

He had no idea why he was doing this. John was just some random person and he should have no interest in keeping him alive and well...yet something roiled in his stomach at the thought of John using the gun.

"You're...sticking around?" John asked, reaching to the floor for his pants and standing on shaky legs.

Sherlock hummed in agreement and poured the hot water, taking the mugs to the small side table and pulling it so he could sit on the bed with his legs crossed. John stared at him for a moment before he sat down next to him and stared into the tea.

"Is this...common?" John asked, clearing his throat again. "I've never done this sort of thing, but I had the impression you would just-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. "Stop complaining and drink your tea."

_____

After dressing and trying to do something to the bit of hair that was sticking up on the side of his head, John followed Sherlock out of his bedsit and into a cab. He didn't exactly know what to do. Sherlock had yet to ask for his fee and he wasn't acting at all how John had thought he would. There wasn't any sexual tension in the cab, and Sherlock was keeping his hands to himself, which confused John even further.

'If I'm meant to pay him for today as well,' he thought a bit bitterly, 'I'd better at least get a handjob."

"You know I'm not employed," John said, hoping that if the man was convinced he would bag a doctor the fact would end the whole charade.

"Mmm," Sherlock returned without looking away from the window. "The tremor in your hand ruled out surgeon and you're still convinced that you wouldn't be able to find a job anywhere else. Perhaps you've given up."

John blanched at that, having forgot how easily the man had read him the night before.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the lack of response and drew his eyes over John's body. "Locum work would do. Get you out of the house at least."

John looked into his lap and steeled himself for more painful revelations, but Sherlock fell into silence next to him. John hoped they were equally uncomfortable.

Sherlock was stuck, really well stuck. He couldn't tell if he'd angered John, and wasn't sure what he should say next. The fact that he wanted to say something, that he wanted to comfort John, was something that made him itch.

They were both relieved when they pulled up to a small café. Sherlock hopped out and John sighed and paid the driver. He guessed he shouldn't have been annoyed, he had nothing to save up for, after all. 

He joined Sherlock at the small outside table and lifted the menu up to busy his hands. "You've, uh, eaten here before?"

"Several times a week. I mostly come to people watch," Sherlock explained, leaning back in his chair and crossing his slim arms. "New Scotland Yard is just around the corner. The most interesting people come by."

"NSY?" John asked. "Isn't that rather-"

He was going to say dangerous, but before he could Sherlock rolled his eyes as another man approached. 

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, sounding thoroughly put upon.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" the man replied, obviously enjoying himself.

Sherlock gestured to John and John thought he might throw up. "Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Northumberland Fusiliers."

The man held his hand out to John and nodded. "I'm Greg Lestrade. Detective Inspector, NSY, and hopelessly dependent on this prat."

John couldn't believe it. Honestly, a DI admitting his addiction to a sex worker in broad daylight to a man he'd just met. "It's, um, brave of you to admit." John said, uneasy and growing more so.

The man, Lestrade, chuckled. "Yeah, well. I'm stuck with him, aren't I? Don't ever see him out with anyone, so I suppose you're just like me. Can't live with him, can't-"

"Yes, if you're quite done," Sherlock interrupted, waving the waitress away with the menu like you might a stray cat.

"I've got something for you, something I think you'll quite like. Can't right now, though, on the way to work. How about I pop by tonight? Seven-ish?" Lestrade said, shifting his bag to his other shoulder.

And John couldn't help but gawk at the man. Christ, he was forward. But, then again, John supposed, you kind of had to be in this sort of situation.

"It had better be good," Sherlock said, picking at his napkin. "The last time was a disgrace. And I won't be working with Anderson, the man is an idiot. Doesn't know heads from tails."

"You've got to work with some of my team, you know," Lestrade said. "Don't make me get your brother involved."

"Idle threat," Sherlock hissed.

John bit into his tongue a little harder to keep from squeaking and had to look away from the interaction. 

Brother. Jesus. 

"Don't act like you didn't come begging for something from me last week. In front of the whole squad, nonetheless," Greg shot back.

Sherlock huffed and the man turned back to John with a slight nod, and left.

"Don't mind him," Sherlock said, picking the menu back up. "The eggs are good."


	3. God Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this one. Somehow it turned out shorter than I'd first assumed it would, but this is the end. Hope to see you on the next one.

John ate slowly, on autopilot. His brain simply wasn't in it, and later, thinking back on it, he realised he hadn't tasted a single bite. 

He never thought of himself as someone that would pay for sex, but now he found himself suddenly in what felt like the gritty underbelly of London with a man he was sure was the most popular male prostitute walking the streets. How easily he was given information on a detective inspector, how openly. And Sherlock, Sherlock was obviously more expensive than he'd let on, because if he was buggering a DI he had to be.

John was still thinking feverishly about how he didn't have more than a few hundred pounds, and how easily Sherlock could have him put behind bars, what with his connections, when the cab after dropped them off in front of another café, this time on Baker Street.

"Listen," John said, swallowing hard and shifting to look over his shoulder, "I really think we should discuss payment. I don't...it's not that I have anywhere to be, but-"

Sherlock ushered John up the stairs and into a crowded flat and then pushed him towards the sofa. John simply stood there with his mouth hanging open as tea was started. He closed his mouth resolutely when Sherlock finally joined him in the bizarre sitting room.

"I'm not going to charge you," Sherlock said, hands clasped behind his back.

Sold into sex slavery, that was it, John thought, he was about to be sold into sex slavery.

Sherlock chin rose and he spoke again. "The truth is...I enjoy your company."

"Company," John bit out, "or company? I mean, if you want me to..."

Sherlock caught John's arm as the man's legs gave out and sat him on the edge of the sofa to go pour the water for tea. He tried not to let the situation spin out of control. He simply had to decide on what truth he would create, and then spin it. John would believe him. John could do little else.

His fingers twitched as he readied the tea, and he cursed himself for ever getting into that cab. Yes, John was alive, but he had to come up with a more permanent lie to keep him that way.

Perhaps the truth, he decided, was the best he could do.

John was staring at the far wall, eyes unfocused, when Sherlock went to sit next to him. He didn't even blink as Sherlock set the cup in his hands.

"About last night," Sherlock said, trying to sound relaxed. "I was bored and you were hot."

It was meant to be casual, flippant even, but it felt strange leaving his mouth. He was upset by how much he still felt that attraction, how much more there was beginning to be behind it. John was a mystery and he wanted to pick him apart right there.

"So it wasn't, well, you weren't acting precisely..." John said, nose scrunching up.

"It was of my own volition," Sherlock said. 

"Then it was just a shag," John murmured, still looking rather bewildered.

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes."

John sat back and looked up the ceiling. "Well, this is..."

"Awkward?" Sherlock supplied.

John was the first to laugh, it spilling out of him in giggles, but Sherlock joined soon after.

"Are you even a-" John tried, wiping tears from his eyes at the lunacy of it.

"Prostitute, no," Sherlock replied quickly, lips still curled into a smile.

"So the Detective Inspector I met today isn't having sex with you for money?" John asked, going back to laughing.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, face scrunching up in disgust. "God no!"

They were still laughing seconds later when said DI burst through the door. 

"There's been a murder," Lestrade said, running a hand through his hair.

Sherlock turned to John and his smile grew. "You were an army doctor."

John nodded.

"Seen a bit of trouble then?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded solemnly. "Mmm. Plenty. Enough for a lifetime."

Sherlock stood and went to wrap his scarf around his neck, forgetting the weather outside. "Want to see some more?"

John stood as well, chest puffing up. "God yes."


End file.
